


What made you better than me...

by monuhm



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alone, Banishment, Gen, Hanging, Murder, POV John Murphy (The 100), Prisoner of War, Reflection, Suicide, Survival, Trigedasleng, grounders, hostage, murphy's exile, outcaste
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-12-26 21:23:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12067239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monuhm/pseuds/monuhm
Summary: “What a joke…”  Murphy grimaced and spoke to the ground and lazily focused on his shoes.  He was nearly unrecognizable, doused in blood, and now found himself in exile.  “Yeah, some second chance…!”  He hollard against the wind.  A quick scoff painfully rolled over his lips and he stifled his frustration boiling away deep within his stomach.   If there was one good thing about being alone, it was that at least no one was going to kill him; not right now anyway.XXXXXXI wanted to see this side of Murphy, and explore what he had to endure to protect the people that betrayed him until he broke during his capture with the grounders in season 1. He is my favorite character and I love how he is such a layered littler onion <3 <3 <3





	1. Teik ai frag splita op - Let me kill the outcast

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this, I really wanted to challenge myself and build up a story as to what exactly happened to John. What made him break, why was it not right away? I think Richard Harmon did such a fantastic job of grabbing hold of the soul of this character and I cannot imagine the show with out him in it.
> 
> I did my best to stay true to the reality of the show without rewatching episodes again. Sorry if there are mistakes I do proof read several times myself so hopefully I caught everything <3

Crinkled leaves muffled the clatter of the warped blade discarded by Murphy’s head. He laid still as the last of the delinquents, Finn, rejoined the group returning to the drop ship. They, specifically Bellamy, had all come to consensus that indeed John was no better than shit smeared beneath their boots. Which was just as well since there wasn’t a soul alive that thought the young man had been worth it; not since his father had been floated. Even the most esteemed opinion of Murphy deemed him little more than being a pawn in a hungry grab at power.

With the chorus of voices swallowed up by the tree line Murphy pushed to his feet. His pommelled body ached and drew a quick shudder from the metallic taste of blood draining down his throat, coating his tongue. Perhaps one day he would just be use to it, he couldn’t imagine many changed hearts in his future. Being on Earth had changed a lot of his peers, in Murphy’s opinion for the worse and likely more so than anyone would admit to. Sobering proof was the noose burning white hot against his throat, and the deafening clunk of foot to crate as his body lunged to the ground; the noose instantly strangling the most forsaken outcast. Everything that he had tried to explain, every accusation that he tried to dispel had all been in vain.

It was spelt out in front of everyone clear as day. When he had been found Wells was abandoned in a ditch, the dirt and blood that caked to his skin had since dried black overnight. Like a cruel parting gift from the world, Wells’ fingers were strewn across the moss bed delicately hidden beneath a few blades of young grass. And then there it was, Murphy’s nail in the coffin, his knife caste aside in haste perhaps in shock to had actually happened. But their motivations and intentions were worthless to John, Camp Dropship had seen what they needed to see. There wasn’t a thing he could have said once hivemind overtook the teenagers. Doubt in the accusations against him only floundered from opposition that even if John didn’t kill Wells there would surely be a time he would betray them all. They might aswell take him down while the cards were in their hands. Turns out being absolved of all their crimes, no matter how petty or heinous they had been, was no favor for Murphy. He was less worthy of the air he breathed than a deranged murdering bitch who only escaped death due to her age. A shame Charlotte hadn’t extended the same sort of decency to the son of a gun she killed. All in the name of slaying her demons.

“What a joke…” Murphy grimaced and spoke to the ground and lazily focused on his shoes. He was nearly unrecognizable, doused in blood, and now found himself in exile. “Yeah, some second chance…!” He hollard against the wind. A quick scoff painfully rolled over his lips and he stifled his frustration boiling away deep within his stomach. If there was one good thing about being alone, it was that at least no one was going to kill him; not right now anyway.

Standing amongst the trees Murphy was haunted by the cliff’s horizon where Charlotte had thrown herself to her death and cheated Murphy of his maddening vengeance. It pulled the gaze of his clear blue eyes, taunting him with Clarke and Bellamy’s voices. Oh how driven they had been to be rid of John and shelter the girl. Malice swelled and burned through Murphy’s heart as that cliff edge seduced him from the shadows of the woods. Here Charlotte unburdened Camp Dropship of her crime. She granted herself a small taste of honor to over-caste her legacy with. Instead of being seen as desperate and twisted, she’d earn pity from those who hadn’t been there, who hadn’t been put in her place to die for the murder she alone committed.

The tide cracked and roared against the coastal rocks anchored at the base of the cliff. Murphy could figure Charlotte’s death would have been instantaneous but he wouldn’t deny that a part of him hoped she drowned instead of breaking her neck. That way should would know how it felt to let someone die for her….Not that she could ever make that mistake again, but Murphy wasn’t the type to wish a clean death on someone like her.

Murphy flipped the knife around in his hand. Its bent hilt curved around his thumb before he bothered to look it over. For the most part it was clean, but there were scattered splashes of what could have been Wells’ blood, his own blood, or both. John wouldn’t have been able to tell anyway. It was ironic, his knife that had been swiped and used to frame him was now back to his possession and was the only thing he had to defend himself with for God knows how long. Hopefully pretty damn long, at least enough time get give some comeuppance. Bellamy would be king of fools if he thought Murphy was just going to lay down and die, that wasn’t his style. Dying pitifully and alone, yeah not on the to-do list now. Besides, betrayal is a bitch and Murphy had plenty of it and not all of it from the ground.

Figuring enough time had been wasted staring off into the crushing waves John thought now was the perfect moment to disappear. Had this been a movie it would have also been a prime opportunity to say a fantastic and daunting one-liner soaked in animosity, but unfortunately this was the reality of Murphy’s life. Some redemption. He could almost make out the tiniest bit of jealousy from the rest of the people up in the station. How envious they must be of John’s position- free to live as he wanted, free from sociable idiots, and oh yeah free to be cut down and killed by literally anyone. As it looked now everyone wanted their turn at killing Murphy and he wouldn’t be too surprised if some of the crew leaped at the chance of having the teen’s skin draped over the floor like a dead bear.

Just as he pivoted towards the treeline an earthquake split through the young man’s skull, his heart rate escalated and rippled the blood from his nose, blanketed his palette and choked a flem laden cough from his lungs. Luckily for Murphy there was no one around to posture to, he needn’t seem indifferent from the harsh rasps of his haggard breath and disruptive coughing fit. After the silence settled back in he gritted his teeth to bare the fervent pounding in his head and lost himself beneath the canopy of evergreens.

Murphy wasn’t sure if walking through the dark had been a bad decision, or a good decision. On the one hand he figured he was now harder to spot when it came to spears sailing through the air and pinning him to a tree. Unlike Jasper, John was so reviled there would be no one around to rescue him, he would just bleed out like a idiot nailed to an oak or maybe a rock. The latter would at least break his back and end the suffering immediately. On the other hand it made it significantly harder for him to see just about anything, the forest was thick and the moon could only spare him a few feet of clear sight. But a blind man was better than a dead man and he boldly stated his guarantee of survival in Earth Studies- just another reason to not die right away.

Hours had passed proving that foresting for the correct herbs and fruits, like juniper leaves, berries, and witch hazel, in the dark was difficult at best. However, still Murphy was still able to be successful despite the painstaking process. He fashioned bandages from what he could spare from his blood soaked clothes, and when the sacrificial material ran out he resorted to simply mashing the remedies up against the remaining gashes. Better than nothing, he shrugged to himself.

The young man did his best to train his ears to the woodland area around him. He grew increasingly suspicious of each distant owl’s hoot, crickets seemed to chant in unison to ‘get Murphy, get Murphy’, and of course every cracked twig whirled the young man’s attention to an imagined origin point even when the offending twig was beneath his out foot. The more energy he used on trying to figure out exactly who was following him (he might as well just assume he really was truly alone he wasn’t much for tracking or hunting...well besides Charlotte), the more his palms began to clam up and distract him for moments at a time with his growing unease.

Near his wit’s end for more wandering with only his breathing and thoughts to keep him company Murphy stopped cold. His breath hitched sharply in his chest, and he caught himself thinking perhaps he had died long ago from blood lose, or inadvertently poisoned himself with his haphazard dressings either cause leaving his body to rot on the forest ground. Ahead of him looked like a scene from someone’s imagination. Spiraling around the tree trunks was an ethereal mint glow wistfully painted along the ruffled edges of mushroom steps, echoed by twisting glimmering vines that reached high up into the canopy. Without so much as a thought in his mind, nothing about where he was going, nothing about where he had come from, all John could do was gaze at the beauty around him as he stepped forwards. If this really was an out of body experience than death wasn’t so bad after all, but as a precaution Murphy looked over his shoulder,

“Good for me...still alive..” his voice painfully scraped at his throat as he muttered to himself. The feeling of regret and sentimentality caught the usually stoic and apathetic teenager off guard, the grove was humbling almost forcing Murphy to denounce his own worth to be captivated by the wondrous aura around him. Had anyone else from the dropship found a place like this or was this a secret he was going to have to keep, a gift from a planet that seemed to set everyone on a course of destroying him. John was not a man of faith, but he was a believer in luck and when you are forced to survive you make you own. Convincing himself the delinquent sat with his back against a tree directly across from the most marveling collection of mushrooms, flowers and vines. If this was to be his one good memory he wanted to make sure he could burn it in his mind before he slept. He didn’t know what time it was exactly, but with the witch hunt, Charlotte’s death, his exile behind him along with the hours of walking Murphy guessed dawn was hot on his heels. If someone wanted him dead they could had taken him out at every step it was not as if he could really run, and he needed to sleep without question so he preferred to die dreaming if this was going to be his fatal mistake. But of course one never fell asleep before clasping this dagger in a vice grip should he need to violently wake up in the morning for any reason at all.

xxxxxxx

What stirred Murphy the next morning was not the sun for it was smothered by a thick layer of clouds, nor was is the merry birds happily cooing in the canopy above, nor was it the sweet smell of the flowers around him. What shocked the young man awake was a team of voices speaking a language the he had never heard before. They were close, so close he could feel the weight of each step as they surrounded him. He hadn’t been dumb enough to open his eyes and in a moment of clarity, after realizing that he was still covered in blood, pressed his body to the ground. He needed to become as heavy and broken as he could, convince them that he was dead. It took all that he could to lie still as inaudible words cascaded around him, revving his pulse into fifth gear.

 

“Jak em swis op..” He heard a voice so casual and so matter of fact that Murphy silently prayed they they would just rob him and leave him be, a dead man. Please believe that’s all that he was, please. He sensed a figure hovering over him, staring at him, taking inventory of how battered his body looked. On the edge of death Murphy felt the familiar weight crushing his chest like it had last night when the crate was kicked from his feet. His ears began to fail him, as if his head had been submerged under water and even with nothing preventing him for breathing and John dared not to. When he felt his knife leaving his hand that feeling burned like hellfire in his stomach. He could do nothing, breathing was an unaffordable luxury, and if his eyes so much as twitched these people would see to his death right there without a second thought to who John was.

“Em ste kom skai...Em ste splita…” A worn steel-toed boot rolled up against Murphy’s temple, the dried blood cracked off pulling out a few brown strands of hair as they fluttered onto the tattered leather. It was muffled but the sound of grass rolling beneath his head was all that was keeping the teen focused on being dead, this sound pressed on his body like a boulder and he nearly pleaded for it to be true so that the planet would kill him rather than a savage.

“Ste em stedaunon?”

“Nou.”

That one little word sent an icy chill through Murphy’s body. All he could hear was the thick voice speaking over and over again, looping that one little word endlessly in his mind. The world crashed down around him as a pair of near paws grabbed fistfulls of his rank clothing, half dried blood squeezed through the fabric and seeped between the man’s fingers as he hoisted John’s chest from the ground.

Murphy’s eyes snapped open and the face that was before his was horrific. Only inches from his face stared a man with a significant scar across the right side of his face. Something had raked across his skin leaving deep lifelong wounds as well as removing his right eye. The man’s left eye held the teens gaze and sought to strip him of any sanity or life left in him.

 

“Oso gonplei nou stei odon...Onya gaf em in…” The man’s voice deepened but there was a glimmer of twisted joy stretching his mouth into a crooked smile. His teeth bared, just about to laugh and that smirk was the last thing Murphy saw before an thick hide bag was shoved over his head and a sickening clank of iron on his wrists just as he was torn back down to the ground.

Fuck.

 

Jak em swis op - take his knife  
Em ste kom skai...Em ste splita… - he is from the sky….he is an outcaste  
Ste em stedaunon? - Is he dead?  
Nou - no  
Oso gonplei nou stei odon...Onya gaf em in…Your fight is not over...Anya wants him.


	2. Kwelen ou Yuj - Weak or Strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 in the series "What made you better than me..." 
> 
> Hours passed and the silent forest began to give way to the teeming sounds of people. Their voices chirped through the trees and carried joyfully over the wind, or it seemed like moments of happiness. Murphy couldn’t understand their language so the laughter really could just be jokes about skinning him alive. Yes, Earth was centuries past the days of Columbus and inquisitions, but given the state of the planet humanity couldn’t be too far off. The links around his wrists yanked him forward, cutting deep into his wrists, and the closer John was brought to those voices the less of them he heard until the air was thick with a tense silence. Quickly the teen realized he was in the middle of another camp and the weight of their stares burned white hot beneath his skin. He couldn’t see them, he couldn’t hear them, but he could sense a collective hatred and savagery honing in on him and if he so much as flitched it’d be curtains- with a clean chop of the head! However, considering what little he actually did know about these people that might be their version of mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! Arg I'm so slow at writing, I'm terribly sorry to keep you guys waiting for the next chapter. Please forgive me >.< I had intended to have this chapter cover a bit more ground but as it is with writing, sometime the story takes you in another direction, or makes you pause for a little bit longer than you expected.
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy this next installment and I look forward to writing the next chapter "soon"

 

     Apparently, sleeping next to glow-in-the-dark flowers and trees was the best way to get yourself captured by grounders.  Hindsight was twenty-twenty but it was hardly the consolation that John needed, he was not anything other than a dead man walking.  He had gloated about being a survivor in an off-the-cuff statement on the ark, in truth he lived by the skin of his teeth, and now he was faced with his approaching demise.  It must have been his lucky day, it wasn’t even twenty-four hours after he was exiled.  Great.  

     Before Murphy realized he sighed a heavy fist clobbered against his jaw, the crack boomed through John’s ears knocking him to the ground.  Light popped behind his eyelids contrasting the long and deep thrumming against his brain as Murphy palmed at the dirt beneath him.  Reeling at the feet of his captors’ the delinquent weaved his fingers into a tangled mess of grass and pine needles fighting to hold onto the world that spun around him.  The thick animal hide over his face clung to the blood flooding the corner of his mouth and stuck brutally to the collection of open wounds that Bellamy had bestowed on him last night.  Murphy winced and groaned swearing he could feel the salt of the dead beast’s skin curing his own flesh.  

 

     “Teik op.”  The grounder’s hand might as well have been Thor’s Hammer.  The wind was nearly knocked out of the young man as this stranger grabbed a fist-full of Murphy’s jacket and dragged him to his feet, “Osop!” And again a hand collided with his body and shoved the teen forward impatiently waiting for him to pick up the pace.  Unfortunately as fate would have it the heated push send John sprawling to the ground once more, his bound hands serving no purpose in breaking his fall.  

 

     The second time around the earth was even less forgiving as Murphy’s foot caught a root and drove his shoulder straight into a thin layer of soil masking a wealth of rocks below.  He hollard but the sack swallowed his voice.  Friction ripped the animal hide from resting on the corner of his mouth causing blood to immediately seeped into the porous leather.  It adhered to the peak of John’s cheekbone and smeared a thick red trail in its wake.  Agony had a hand in melding these few moments into what felt like hours.  No sooner had Murphy wailed did the grounder throw out a brutal hand to hoist the teen to his feet.    
  
     “Teik em we…”  Murphy couldn’t see, and could barely hear what the man was saying but he could tell it was parting words as the gang of grounders trudged their prisoner through the woods.

  
     Wherever the grounders had dragged him John knew dumb luck would be the only way he got back to the drop ship before getting picked off again by either a radioactive bear or another grounder troop.  With his head still bundled within the blood soaked hide the only sense that he could really use was touch however being unable to run out and frolic among the trees even  _ that _ was regulated to sense the temperature.  It was chilly, so it was late, and the hopelessness that was ushered in with that realization was nauseating.  With nightfall coming, and having no idea where he was (beyond “over the river and through the woods”) Murphy was growing more convinced that he might just end up eating his words.

 

      Hours passed and the silent forest began to give way to the teeming sounds of people.  Their voices chirped through the trees and carried joyfully over the wind, or it seemed like moments of happiness.  Murphy couldn’t understand their language so the laughter really could  just be jokes about skinning him alive.  Yes, Earth was centuries past the days of Columbus and inquisitions, but given the state of the planet humanity couldn’t be too far off.  The links around his wrists yanked him forward, cutting deep into his wrists, and the closer John was brought to those voices the less of them he heard until the air was thick with a tense silence.  Quickly the teen realized he was in the middle of another camp and the weight of their stares burned white hot beneath his skin.  He couldn’t see them, he couldn’t hear them, but he could sense a collective hatred and savagery honing in on him and if he so much as flinched it’d be curtains- with a clean chop of the head!  However, considering what little he actually  _ did _ know about these people that might be their version of mercy.

 

     The dirt and leaves around his feet were quickly replaced by a rough and cracked cement staircase.  The air hugged, cool and damp, around his fingers as slick granules of rock grated on the concrete beneath John’s boots.  Sound began to return to Murphy as they continued but only because of a magnificent echo bouncing to and fro.  Each clack of the chains, each threatening incoherent word from his captors, and each shuffle of his feet made the sounds dance across the walls.  By the time he could distinguish each note a hopeless picture was painting in his mind’s eye.  He was being lead down underground to a prison, a decrepit bunker if he were lucky.   
  
     It was in vain, and not to mention moronic, but Murphy attempted to embed his foot patterns in his mind; having breadcrumbs to follow back would have made it far easier to record.   _ As if _ he was ever going to be able to not only free himself but managed to escape as well. 

 

     It truly was ironic, with all the cliche Hollywood horror movies housed in the Ark’s library you’d think that  _ someone  _ would have considered the likelihood of bumping into souped up radioactive warriors once they landed.  Alas never once was it considered, not even for shits and giggles.  And wouldn’t you know it John was cast in this movie as the asshole to get captured without a friend in the world to give a fuck about him.   No one was out there looking for him, and even if he hadn’t been banished Murphy was sure that this would be what Camp Dropship considered justice.  Anger began to boil away in the pit of his stomach, his heart broken and ached for just about anything that wasn’t this.  It ached with hate, with betrayal, with regret, it was endless and hungrily it began to swallow the teen up as he was ushered down the halls.

 

     That engrossing moment was snatched right from John’s chest as the animal hide was torn off his face.  Just as before, the leather ripped free from the delinquent’s blood-soaked cheek, his wounds reopened and seared from exposure to the dank still air.  Tears breached his thick lashes but by some miracle the young man was able to hold on as his crystal eyes locked in on the man he had seen before.  

 

     The grounder’s face was contorting into a sickening grin, the arrogance and pride he must have felt about having the upper hand on the teenager seemed to enthrall him.  A long scar slanted across his face, ripples and bubbles peppered the texture of the wound, left over from trauma but was likely now displayed it with pride.  His scar and one piercing eye, served as threatening ornamentation to anyone that crossed his path; his face impossible to forget.  And surely, he loved being likened to a nightmare.     
  
     “Skaikru laik veida…”  The man’s voice hung thick in the air.  His mouth stretched wider as each word rumbled against the walls.  The grounder looked over his battered prisoner and his chest swelled, a roar clawed at his lungs, all he could think about was the good fortune that this fellow outcast had brought him.  He took one last look at John devouring those blue eyes that stood like two crystals against the deep umber tones of dried blood and dirt.   Though those tears were the sum of a thousand emotions weighing down on the teen right now the grounder released a shrill cackle.  The shriek bounded against the walls and the floor as he sought to reduce the struggling young man to nothing but a sniveling prisoner.

 

     Buried deep beneath countless layers of thought and emotion Murphy’s heart grabbed onto the last bit of defiance that he had left into him.  Stealing the one-eyed man’s thunder John’s voice rippled against the loud crows from the grounder guaranteeing his attention.  He only needed a moment.

  
     “I don’t even know why you bothered to take me here at all..” John’s voice was dry and lazy.  He peered down the length of his nose to make it seem like he was making very little effort to connect and hold the attention of his captors, “If you haven’t notice, I was kicked out….So what that means is if you intend for me to be hostage, well then I hate to break it to you but...it’s popular opinion that I should be dead…”  John offered a shrug but found himself more stunned by his own words than even the grounder was letting on (the likelihood of him understanding English was pretty slim anyway).  The more he spoke the quick his heart slammed against his chest.  His tongue felt fat in his mouth, was he _seriously_ trying to protect Camp Dropship?  The people that strung him up and banished him?  The people that would slaughter him the second he approached?  Yup, looked like it, well isn’t that the shit, best not to waste time.

 

     “So no one will come for me,” The word  _ ever _ nearly slipped past his lips and the feeling of it dancing on the tip of his tongue put a heavy weight against Murphy’s chest.  He was right though, if he were a hostage no one would come to rescue him, not now, not after all that had happened.  And still John found himself trying to spare them the wrath he was likely about to face.   _ Why _ was a worthy question to ask himself, but he didn’t have an answer, at least not one that he understood.  

 

    Murphy half expected radio silence, or maybe a little irritated smirk from the grounders before they carted him off further down the tunnel.  However when the man spoke John went white.

 

     “You misunderstand…” the grounder was nearly laughing again as he approach the delinquent.  He patiently waited as he soaked in every crack in the strong visage that John had tried to construct to gain the upper hand.  But the fact still remained, Murphy was the powerless one for all he had were his wits and those don’t protect against blades.

 

     “It is in fact your worthlessness to them that makes you so valuable to me….”  The man paused, his breath and last word lingered in the air as he watched his hostage desperately try to disguise the growing panic swirling in his eyes.  Each word, each word of  _ Gonaslang _ chipped away at the young man’s nerve and ruining him as he listened in horror.  See the gears turn in John’s mind and the grounder learned back casually, like Murphy was his dog and the one-eyed man was waiting for him to take a piss.  Murphy was nothing to him beyond a chance at redemption and he was making it increasingly obvious that he didn’t much care for what he had to do to the teenager to get results.   
  


     “I’m think…” The man’s grating voice gnawed through John’s ear as he broke the silence, “No…” the word quickly drew from his lips in realization, “I  _ know _ you’ll break…” He took one solid step towards John, close enough to feel the teen’s shallow breath against his own skin, “Because your people discarded you, rejected you….And I agree with you, because by the looks of it they wanted to kill you as well...And I know, no man would vow to protect a clan after so much betrayal…!”     


  
     Poison seeped from the grounder’s lips and ravaged through Murphy’s body.  His lashes fluttered as his throat seized in a struggled to catch his breath.  The delinquent had meant to shatter not only the scavenger’s confidence but his goons as well, he had wanted to show them that he was unbreakable, that he wasn’t afraid, and that he was a worthless prize for their objective.  However it had all been turned on its head and was making quick work of breaking Murphy’s spirit.  

 

     The world around him faded, his mind flooded with memories of the night before when Bellamy throttled him to the ground with a pair of fists landing every damn time.  The connections were solid and crushing, it had been a feet in of itself that Murphy hadn’t died right there on the ground.  He remembered the hollow feeling in his chest as everyone walked away without offering a second glance behind, they all just left, and soon John could feel the familiar thought of wishing he had been Jasper.  Surely this ordeal would have killed the gangly delinquent but at least he would have died knowing he had friend’s coming to rescue him.  

  
A sharp thrust in his gut doubled John over to the ground. He hadn’t the mind or the strength to protest, the only sound was the hard slap of his drop to the stone floor below.  Incapacitated and weak Murphy could do nothing as the fowl sack was stuffed over his head once more before he was hauled away to wherever it was that death wait for him.

  
Teik op - get up   
Osop - Hurry up!   
Skaikru laik veida - Skypeople are invaders

Teik em we - take him away   
Gonasleng - English


End file.
